The Admirer
by xxsHiPpOsGuRlxx
Summary: Hermione has had her heart broken, and it awaits a love that will heal it. An eventual RonHermione one-shot.


She was walking around the lake again. Every day after Charms, she would trample the growing grass around the willow she was so fond of, toting her bookbag and a handkerchief holding oatmeal cookies with raisins in a happy-face. She would smile only as long as she was within sight of the castle, and it was only when she didn't think that anyone was following her that she let her tears fall.

Unbeknownst to Hermione Granger, there was a shadow who followed her every step, heard her sighs and moaning over her lack of a boyfriend. Tragic was her fate, for such a romantic heart that lay beating within her still bosom was bereft of a lover's caress, a gentle touch. The irony of it was that he who followed her to make sure she was safe was one who loved her, so very close but for her lack of notice.

One afternoon, on one of her morning walks, she stumbled across a couple sitting on the far side of the lake. Slipping into the shadow of a tree, they did not notice her arrival. As the tears fell from her eyes, her best friend and love was sitting under the noonday sun with another, feeding strawberries into her delighted mouth and looking ever so much in lovely lust that nothing could awaken him from it. It was then that Hermione's heart was broken, and then that the figure following her decided to do something that would make her happy.

The following morning, as she walked into the Great Hall, she saw Harry and another girl sitting together, exchanging caresses under the table and low whispers into each others' ears. Distraught but determined not to let her tears fall, Hermione sat next to a disgruntled Ron. He noticed her lack of spirits, and sought to amuse her by balancing a piece of toast upon his rather long nose. As she warred between giggling and disapproval at the coating of marmalade on his nose, a white rose and a letter landed neatly on top of her napkin. Curious, she opened the envelope and blushed as she read the contents. "Hermione," they said, "thou art as fair as the morning star, far surpassing any earthly radiance with thy beauty. With love always, your secret admirer."

The arrival of the envelope was followed by one every morning after the first, growing increasingly more romantic. As she wasted away in an adolescent love for her admirer, she failed to notice the red-haired boy trying to garner her affections. He carried her books from class to class and was always late for Divination, for her Ancient Runes class was across the castle and he never listened to her half-exasperated insistences that she could carry her own books, that he needn't be late to a class on her account, even if it _was_ with that spangled bat of an old fraud. When he snuck her favorite sandwiches past Madame Pince so that she didn't have to skip meals while studying, she disapproved of his rule-breaking and refused to accept them. Despondent, Ron's affections grew more transparent as the intensity of the love-notes from Hermione's admirer grew. Still, Hermione was oblivious to the fact that her best friend fancied her, and she remained in love with an admirer that she had never met.

During a Quidditch game, while Hermione was cheering as Ron blocked yet another quaffle, she wondered why she felt so happy whenever he was happy. Summarily dismissing it as a genuine fondness for her long-time, gangly friend, she was shocked out of her reverie as a bludger collided with his broom. He fell, and as he hit the ground she felt as if her heart were breaking. Running down to the pitch, she knelt by his side and escorted him to the hospital wing. She remained by his side, and as he regained consciousness he looked down, toying with the hem of his blanket as he began to speak of love and hope and an infinite joy. Having poured out his soul, Ron looked up from his hands only to find that Hermione was asleep. Weary himself, he slipped into slumber.

The next morning, Hermione went to breakfast expecting a letter from her Secret Admirer, a letter that came a moment later than it should have and made her realize how much she relied on them to cheer her day. "Dearest," this one read, "I have a confession to make. Please meet me under the oak tree at the lake at sunset; I'll be holding a white rose." Delighted and very, very afraid, Hermione ran up to her room and drew the curtains behind her, sitting on her bed and wondering what she should do. Her heart told her to meet her Secret Admirer at sunset, for she would then know his true identity and, just possibly, live her happily-ever-after of sharing toast while walking by the lake and being fed treacle tart while lying hidden amongst grasses with her sparkle-eyed love. However, there was also a part of her heart that was frozen and unsure. "How could he ever love me?" she asked. "I'm a horrid bookworm who doesn't have _anything_ beautiful about me. I don't recognize the writing, so it can't be someone I'm close to. Once we meet face-to-face and actually talk he'll realize what a bore I am, how my hair frizzes outwards and my skirts can't hide my knobbly knees." Feeling frightened, she placed the rose in her bag and walked into the common room, firmly determined not to spoil the lovely memory of having an admirer by actually meeting him.

At sunset, Ron was sitting under an oak tree, wondering where Hermione could be while idly playing with the handkerchief full of her favorite oatmeal cookies and the petals of the white rose in his lap. Afraid that she wasn't going to meet him, he stood to go. As he turned around, he saw a stunned Hermione looking at the rose in his hand. Their eyes met; in his was a love and tender sweetness that soothed all of her doubts. Stepping forward, she met him in an embrace among friends.

"Ron," she asked, "were you my secret admirer all along?"

"Yeah, Hermione, I was," he replied. "Ever since fourth year, I've been in love with you."

"Why?" said Hermione in a wondering tone, truly bewildered that her wonderful best friend would suddenly profess his love to she of all people.

"What do you mean," Ron asked, shocked that she would wonder. She was perfection in his eyes, and her self-doubt had always worried him.

"Look at me. I'm short, neither thin nor fat, have a habit of never shutting up, have frizzy hair, and am entirely disgusting. Why would _anyone_ love me, especially someone as beautiful as you?"

"You're the beauty."

"No, I'm not." She replied, and as she turned to go he caught her arm, spinning her into a kiss so sincere that she could not help but doubt his love. It felt like warm honey pooling into her consciousness, a slow tightening and spinning as their minds melded.

Shyly, she looked up at him, her self-confidence trembling under his intense gaze.

"I'm worried. About Voldemort, about life and the everlasting beauty. About death, about pain, about _you_. I'm afraid to love you, because sooner or later you'll leave me for another girl, someone prettier, someone you love more than me. A lady named Death, even, and then I'll be all alone, and if I love you and you're gone I'll _die_, Ron, shrivel and die because once I'm open and hoping I can't close again, and I need to know that you love me so that it'll all be okay."

His eyes began to shine with unshed tears, and the glorious sunset set his hair aflame as he held her.

"Hermione," he said, "I will love you unto the end of this earth. Even as the rivers run dry, my love for you will flow and make them whole again. You make me complete, love, and I would happily spend the rest of my life with you."

Smiling into each others' eyes, the sun set upon two people very much in love, newly but with a foundation that would prove to last.

_"Look at our baby, love. Isn't she beautiful?"_

_"She is indeed. What will we name her?"_

_"We'll name her Felicity, because of the joy she has brought us."_

_"Felicity is a lovely name. Look at her eyes, how they sparkle and shine with her love. Oh! She smiled; Ron, doesn't she have a lovely smile?"_

_"Her smile will shine in the darkest of nights. She's our little girl, and she's become our world."_  
_  
"Ron, she was always our world."_

_"You know, I think we should make her middle name Rose."_

_"I think that would be fine."_

End.


End file.
